Is It Too Late to Come on Home?
by E Salvatore
Summary: Steve's no stranger to waiting, but the way every minute of every day seems to drag on forever is entirely new to him. A two-part post-Civil War sequel to 'I Figured Out Where I Belong'.
1. Chapter 1

**IS IT TOO LATE TO COME ON HOME?**

 **Steve's no stranger to waiting, but the way every minute of every day seems to drag on forever is entirely new to him** OR **the one where Steve gives Natasha all the time and space in the world, because he's a good… friend like that. (And maybe he needs a little time and space too.)**

 **Title (once again) courtesy of Florence + The Machine's Long & Lost.**

* * *

"Can't wait to see you too, buddy. Just another day, all right? I'll see you then. Love you too. Can you put your Auntie Nat on the phone, please?"

It's not so much that Steve has gotten worryingly good at eavesdropping as it is that it's almost impossible _not_ to overhear a conversation when everyone's in close quarters, especially when the walls have a way of throwing echoes all the way down the hall. Still, a better man would have respected Clint's privacy and kept on walking.

Steve doesn't know when he stopped being that man, but that's probably what being lovesick does to a person.

"So, have the kids driven you nuts yet?" Clint chuckles as Steve lingers next to the half-closed door of the common room. "Nice try, Romanoff, but we all know my fat baby's got you wrapped around his chubby little finger."

There'd been a night – a few months back, a lifetime ago – when he caught Nat watching a video of Nathaniel happily gurgling and shrieking with laughter as he crawled to an unseen Clint waiting on the other side of the camera. The video ended on an image of the baby falling onto his belly, his big eyes round with surprise as he flashed the camera a gummy smile. Eyes still on her phone, Natasha had muttered to herself, "Ugh, I love this kid."

It's a good memory, one Steve's glad to have whenever he doesn't know where or how she is, whenever something reminds him of her only to remind him of her absence as well.

"Tomorrow, right? Yeah, the king knows. I think he's planning to be there when you land so… maybe tell Laura so that she can warn the kids to behave. I'd rather be the only Barton causing international incidents for now," Clint's voice seems to be drifting closer, prompting Steve to reluctantly peel himself away from the wall and walk back the way he came.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get my wife and kids to me in one piece, will ya? Thank you. Yeah, see you." None of the doors here squeak – he wonders fleetingly if the hinges are made of vibranium, and if vibranium hinges would need oiling – but they're all heavy and ornate, the kind of doors you can _hear_ the air move around as they open.

Steve speeds up his pace and reaches the end of the hallway just as Clint steps out of the common room. There's a brief impulse to somehow ask about Nat in a way that doesn't hint at his new eavesdropping tendencies or his burning curiosity, but this is Clint. The guy's second only to Natasha when it comes to picking up on this kind of thing, and Steve is in no mood to put up with the good-natured teasing that will inevitably follow. Asking T'Challa about Natasha's impending arrival and the length of her stay (if she stays at all) would be preferable to the knowing glint in Clint's eyes.

Asking Nat herself would be even better, but they haven't spoken in three months and he had to learn secondhand that she's on her way to the country she _knows_ he's in.

It's Nat. If she wanted him to know, he would have.

* * *

Steve spends the better part of that night trying to come up with an excuse for him to be near the landing pad when the Bartons arrive (and the rest of it trying to figure out _when_ they'll arrive) only to wake up without a plan and short on sleep.

In the end, he happens to cross paths with T'Challa after breakfast and finds himself accompanying his host to the landing pad. "You must be close, the two of you," The king muses once he's made their destination known. "Somehow, it did not surprise me when she helped you and Sergeant Barnes escape."

"She was just doing the right thing," Steve shrugs, as if he hadn't felt the urge to gather Natasha in his arms when she made it clear that she was on his side, as if he hasn't spent every day since wishing she had gotten on the damn plane with them. "That's Nat for you. It might take her a while to figure out what the right thing is, but once she does there's no way she'll ignore it." Not anymore, at least. It's why he couldn't bring himself to be mad at her when she first announced her intention to sign the Accords, nor when she showed up next to Tony at the airport.

"It sounds like you two are a perfect match," T'Challa says, and he barely has time to register the mischievous gleam in the king's eyes before he walks ahead to join his sister, leaving Steve to his own thoughts until they're drowned out by an incoming plane.

T'Challa waves him over as he and Shuri make their way out to the landing pad, but Steve finds himself lingering a good twenty feet behind the siblings, even as they're joined by Clint and Wanda.

Lila is the first to appear, racing down the stairs and into her father's arms even as her mother's exasperated voice rings out. Cooper follows shortly after, barely giving Clint a moment to catch his breath before another child barrels into him.

"You know Nat's on that plane, right?" A familiar voice asks as a hand claps him on the shoulder.

"Yeah? She tell you that or did you have to eavesdrop on Barton to find out too?" Steve mutters, eyes focused on the door Laura and Nathaniel have just appeared from as Sam sighs.

"Look, man, I don't know what the hell is going on between you two-"

"That makes two of us."

"- and frankly, I don't think I _wanna_ know. But I spent a year watching you make eyes at her. A _year_. And I'm not even counting that time I let you guys crash at my place, that time she sat next to you in the hospital while you were dead to the world, all those times she suddenly showed up while we were looking for Barnes…" At the sight of Steve's less than impressed look, Sam raises both hands in surrender. "Just saying, that's a _lot_ of times I've had to put up with you two and your… whatever this is. So _I'm_ gonna go ahead and say hi to a friend I haven't seen in three months, but you can stay here and sulk while you avoid your partner slash life partner. I'm not judging you or anything." And with one last clap on his shoulder, Sam breaks into a jog to join the others.

The polite thing to do would be to greet Laura and the kids, maybe bounce Nathaniel around for a bit, and say hi to Natasha. Or at least nod at her.

But then she appears at the door and it hits him all over again – the sleepless nights that plagued him when she dropped off the map, the frantic attempts to contact her that had gone unanswered, the gaping hole in his life she leaves each time she strolls out of it for reasons he can never understand.

After a brief scan of her surroundings, her eyes seem to land directly on him for all of two seconds before Wanda runs up to her and throws her arms around Natasha. Sam joins them after a moment, with a call for a group hug that has the children giggling as they cling to his legs.

The most polite thing to do would be to walk away and spare everyone from the growing sense of unrest and frustration that's settled in his gut.

* * *

He has dinner with T'Challa that evening.

"I am pleasantly surprised that we were able to dine uninterrupted," T'Challa remarks once they've both pushed their plates aside, having spent most of dinner discussing the newcomers and their living arrangements. "Even in Wakanda, we have heard stories of your legendary Avengers parties."

"I'm sure they're on their best behavior tonight," Steve tells him, leaving out the fact that most Avengers parties usually involve a certain Tony Stark, and significantly more alcohol as a result. "I hope they're not bothering your sister too much, though. Especially the kids – they can be a real handful once you get enough soda in their systems." Lila and Cooper had taken an immediate liking to the princess, and within an hour of their arrival they'd talked Shuri into organizing a pizza party and abandoning her brother to join them at said party.

The king laughs. "It will do Shuri well to be around younger children, I think. I am hoping it will make her realize how childish she can sometimes be."

The royal siblings have a relationship that never fails to make him miss Bucky. "Where is everyone else, though? Don't you usually have dinner with your family?"

"My family and the elders, yes, but I felt that perhaps this arrangement would be more helpful to you. After all, no one likes discussing matters of the heart at a table filled with gossiping elders," T'Challa lowers his voice conspiratorially, grinning even as Steve is seized by a coughing fit. He laughs as he leans over to thump Steve's back a couple of times. "There, there. Are you truly so surprised? You have hardly been subtle today, my friend."

"Maybe you're just exceptionally observant," Steve suggests after a glass of water. God, he hopes that's the case. It's not like his feelings for Natasha would be news to anyone other than Lang, but the last thing he needs right now is for the team to revive their old attempts at matchmaking. "Have you been speaking to Sam?"

T'Challa shrugs. "Perhaps. But there was nothing he could tell me that I had not already surmised. It is not every day that a person finds someone worth attacking a king for, especially not someone as mindful of diplomatic relations as Agent Romanoff."

"It's…" The usual denial automatically springs to his lips, but Steve finds himself hesitating. It would be insulting, wouldn't it, to lie to the man who's so graciously taken them all in and given them refuge? Besides, T'Challa's right: he's never been the most subtle guy around. There's no hiding it, especially now that Natasha's here. "It's complicated," He finally admits, shooting T'Challa a wry smile.

The king sighs and offers him a knowing smile in return. "It always is. If you wish to talk about it, I can offer you my secrecy and an endless flow of wine. If you do not, I offer you my silent understanding and again, wine. But either way, I feel I must warn you about something."

"Is everything okay?" Steve asks, brows furrowed in concern.

"There is nothing to worry about," T'Challa assures him. "But you should know that Agent Romanoff will be joining us soon. She seemed tired when I spoke to her earlier, and I told her she would be most welcome to join us should she require a moment of peace."

"You know, Your Majesty," He sighs, crossing his arms as he levels a look at his host. "I don't wanna accuse you of anything, but a guy's bound to have some suspicions when you put him in a position like this."

T'Challa laughs. "My friend, I have been in your shoes enough times to know exactly how you feel."

There's a knock on the door before he can reply, and Steve's only slightly horrified to find it's been ajar this whole time. _Slightly_ , however, turns into _completely_ horrified when he sees who's at the door. Apparently when T'Challa says soon, he means _soon._

"Looks like I found the adult table," Natasha drawls, arms crossed as she leans against the doorway. "I hope I'm not interrupting," She adds after a moment, addressing T'Challa with a respectful dip of her head.

"Not at all!" He assures her, going so far as to stand up from his seat and pull out a chair for Natasha. "Please, join us."

"Can't exactly say no to the king, can I?" She smiles, and within moments Steve finds Natasha seated right across the table from him. T'Challa returns to his seat at the head of the table, looking unbearably pleased with himself as he watches his guests acknowledge each other.

"Rogers," She nods at him; it's accompanied by that almost-smirk she usually reserves for the likes of Stark, the kind she hasn't directed at him in ages. Steve hates it.

"Natasha," He says in return, nothing more than a perfunctory greeting.

"So!" T'Challa booms once it becomes evident that they're done, reaching forward to pour Natasha a glass of palm wine. "How goes the pizza party, Agent Romanoff?"

"Oh, it's great," She says, murmuring a quiet "thank you" when he passes her the glass. "I think everyone's having a little too much fun with this whole gourmet pizza buffet thing you've got going, actually. When we have pizza parties back home it's usually just a mountain of greasy cardboard boxes."

"Despite Shuri's best efforts, I am afraid we have yet to introduce Domino's to Wakanda," T'Challa laments, his eyes bright with humor. "This was the best we could do on such short notice."

"Well, the kids have already declared it the best pizza party ever," Natasha assures him. "So I think you did just fine, Your Majesty."

"The best ever?" T'Challa echoes dubiously. "Maybe I should check out this pizza party for myself, eh?" The question is ostensibly directed at Natasha, but it's Steve the king turns to, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

"I'll go with you–" Steve immediately volunteers, his stomach in knots at the prospect of being left alone with Natasha.

"No, no," The king dismisses him with a wave as he gets to his feet. "Stay. Keep Agent Romanoff company. I'm sure the two of you have much to catch up on." He walks towards the door and pauses briefly only to toss a cheery "Don't wait for me!" over his shoulder before he disappears.

Steve reluctantly tears his eyes away from the doorway only to find Natasha looking at him, eyes shadowed and lips quirked into a smile that's equal measures amused and dismayed. "So," She says.

"So," Steve echoes hesitantly.

They stare at each other until he can't help himself, until a smile tugs at his lips against his own will and he huffs out a laugh.

She laughs in return, and it tugs at the part of him that's stayed up countless nights thinking of her, worrying about her, _missing_ her.

"Are you done?" Natasha asks, her eyes dropping to his empty plate. When he nods, she downs the contents of her glass in one go and pushes her chair back. "Walk with me?" It's barely a question, a thinly-veiled command more than anything, but under it all he hears a hint of hesitance, of uncertainty, of fear.

When he crosses the table to stand by her side, the shadows in her eyes give way to a genuine smile, the first one she's given him in months. It's the kind of smile she rarely ever gives anyone, the kind of smile that used to make him think _I could wake up to this for the rest of my life._

"Come along then, soldier," Natasha murmurs, and he can almost pretend it's four months ago, almost pretend it's just another night when they're the last ones left in the common room and it's time to head to bed.

"Lead the way, ma'am," He says quietly, and they head out into the hallway in silence. Occasionally her arm brushes against his, but she makes no attempt to strike up conversation as she guides him down an unfamiliar route that somehow leads them to the wing T'Challa has set aside for the Avengers' use.

They'd all chosen to cluster together after he rescued Sam and the others from the Raft, all of them picking rooms along the same hallway. Natasha has been assigned – or has picked out, more likely – a room set further apart from everyone else's, tucked away in a corner none of them have ventured into.

"Wait here," Natasha tells him when they reach her door, and he takes the time to sort out his thoughts while she disappears into her room. He's almost relieved she didn't invite him in – no, he _is_ relieved, and it makes no sense. Isn't this what he needs? An opportunity to speak to her without prying eyes, a chance to set things right before they're made to interact in front of all their friends?

He's not ready, Steve realizes as the door opens. All these months waiting for her, and he's somehow not ready to really see her just yet, to find out what they're like outside of the bubble that was life in Avengers HQ.

She closes the door behind her and leans against it as she holds out–

"Nat," He breathes in awe.

"You should really learn to take better care of your things," She admonishes teasingly, offering him his shield. It's turned around, and within its concave interior Steve finds stacks of pictures – some loose, some in albums, others yet in photo frames he recognizes from his room back in headquarters.

His hands are shaking as he reaches for his shield, but Natasha's kind enough not to say anything about it. "How did you…?"

Natasha shrugs. "I had some time to pack before Stark figured out I wasn't staying. Figured you'd want something from home."

Steve cradles the shield in one hand and reaches for her with the other; four months ago maybe he would've wrapped one hand around her waist, but now he settles for a hand on her shoulder instead. "Thank you, Nat. Really, just… thank you."

"You're welcome," She says a moment later, her voice faint as her eyes remain locked on his. The longer she looks at him the more he wants to move his hand down to her waist and close the distance between them, but before he can fall fully under her thrall Natasha blurts out, "You didn't say hi."

She shrugs his hand off her. "When I arrived this morning," Her eyes fall to some point beyond his shoulder as she elaborates. "I saw you. You were there, and you didn't say hi."

The words bubble past his lips before he can even consider what he's about to get himself into. "You didn't tell me you were coming." An accusation for an accusation.

At least she has the decency to look him in the eye then, to offer him the silent regret that flashes through her eyes.

"God, Nat," Steve mutters, frustration rising to form a lump in his throat. "Do you know how worried I've been? I had no way of knowing where you were or _how_ you were, no way of contacting you. And _you_ didn't contact me. You knew exactly where I was, you knew exactly how to get ahold of me. You always do," He shakes his head at the thought, at the memory of months and months of waiting and silence and _nothing_. "You always do, but I never hear from you. Why is that?"

"You know how it is when you've got to go underground," Natasha offers him a weak smile. "Can't risk anyone–"

" _Don't_ ," He snaps, and he's just as taken aback by it as she is. Steve takes a minute, closes his eyes and just breathes until he can think straight again, until he can think of anything other than the fact that she thinks she can lie to him again. As if the past year had meant nothing, as if they hadn't spent every single day unravelling each other and trading promises of truth and trust always, _always_ , even if they could offer each other nothing else at the very least they were supposed to always have that.

"The truth, Nat," He reminds her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Only the truth."

For the longest time there is only the sound of his own heartbeat as he waits for her to choose a path for them, as he waits for her to decide if they're still the people they were just four months ago.

"Okay," Natasha whispers, her voice wet and thick and shaky. "The truth is I had nothing to say to you, Steve," She tells him bluntly, crossing her arms as she challenges him to react, to interrupt, to defend himself. "You spent a _year_ promising me things would be different this time. You told me nothing could take this team away from me. And then you did. So the truth is I was hurt, and pissed, and I didn't call you because I had nothing to say to you, because I couldn't pretend we were okay."

He's never seen her like this. He's known her for years, has seen the way she looks when she sleeps, the way she looks when she thinks she's alone, the way she looks when she falls apart for him, vulnerable and lost and _his_ for just a moment… but he's never seen the way she looks when her heart is broken and he's the one responsible for it. Never mind that it was an impossible situation, never mind that Bucky was involved and they were being played from the start and he's far from the only one to blame for this mess. For a year he promised Natasha no one would ever take away her home now that she'd found it, and when the time came he was the one who took it from her, the one who'd lulled her into a false sense of security, the one who left her utterly unprepared to deal with the fallout.

Steve steps forward. "Nat…"

She shakes her head and stops him with a firm hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "I don't need an apology, Steve. It wasn't your fault; it's stupid for me to feel that way but at least I _know_ that's not really the truth. I just need time to process that." She pauses for a moment to breathe and collect herself and assess the situation, her hands curling into the cotton of his shirt even as she puts an insurmountable distance between them with her words. "I think maybe we both just need some time."

After everything they've been through, after all the time they've had, the last thing he _should_ want is more time. But he takes one look at Natasha's still-glossy eyes and he knows she's right. She's hurt, and so is he, and it's not something they can work through together. It's the kind of hurt that demands processing, the kind of hurt that's part betrayal and part anger, the kind of hurt they can't afford to take out on each other.

They need time to think. They need space to be with their thoughts. "Okay," Steve agrees quietly.

"Okay," Natasha echoes faintly. She leans forward, stretches up on her tip-toes and uses the hand still on his chest to balance herself as she presses a kiss to his cheek the way she did in the cemetery all those years ago, the last time they had a proper goodbye. Her lips linger, and her eyelashes brush butterfly kisses against his temple, and everything about her is so familiar and comforting and _right_ that for just a minute he wants to forget all of it, wants to say _screw it_ and never let her go again.

She steps away and with one last smile – a sad thing, a hopeful thing –, she disappears into her room.

They don't talk again for a very long time.

* * *

 **Hey, remember this fic? Remember how all the way back in 2016 I promised y'all some post-Civil War fic? Here it is,** **two whole years** **late and** **three(!) years** **after the first part. Truly, I just keep finding new ways to embarrass and disappoint myself.**

 **I've been having trouble accessing this website so it might take a while before I get the chance to post the second chapter, but if you're reading this after April 25** **th** **, you'll be able to find the rest of this fic over on AO3, under the username E_Salvatore.**

 **As always, I'd love to hear from you. Comments, thoughts, rants about how it takes me forever to write, rants about how rusty I am and how awful this is... all that good stuff.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

If Natasha knows one thing for sure, it's that life goes on.

Even after you've left behind everything you've ever known, even after the agency you've dedicated your life to turns on you, even after you finally find a home only to have it ripped away from you–

Life goes on.

In Wakanda, that's easier to keep in mind than ever before. She's not unaware of the danger that awaits them – her training wouldn't let her forget even if she wanted to – but the outside world is just far enough for her to push it all to the back of her mind, to let herself develop a routine here and commit to plans for the next day without wondering whether she'll even still be here by then.

And so she finds herself agreeing to spar with the Dora Milaje every day, a standing appointment she has every intention of keeping. Somehow it becomes a routine for half the team, Sam and Wanda and sometimes even Clint tagging along to watch her train with Wakanda's best.

Steve shows up just once, long after she's allowed herself to get swept up in the exercise and shortly before they're done for the day. It's entirely by coincidence that her eyes happen to find him watching from a balcony three floors above, so focused on her that it takes him a moment to realize she's looking right back at him. He's gone when she happens to look his way again two minutes later, and if he does return Natasha never catches him again.

But Wanda is there, day in and day out, even when she's the only one. She follows Natasha to the courtyard and watches from the sidelines, turning down every offer to join them. Natasha thinks about their training sessions back home, thinks of how all the training in the world couldn't help her when they pushed her to go into the field before she was ready, and so she lets Wanda be.

Someday, she'll get bored of just watching. And when she does, Natasha will be there to make sure what happened in Lagos never happens again.

Today it's Wanda and Sam, and the few times Natasha glances over at them they seem deep in conversation. Her suspicion is only strengthened when Sam leaves before the day's session is done, leaving a distressed-looking Wanda on her own for nearly ten minutes before Natasha can join her.

"You okay?" She asks the younger girl, watching Wanda fidget with the edges of her sleeves as she picks up her water bottle.

"I… Well…" Wanda waits till she's done drinking before going on. "Sam told me something about Steve which I am not supposed to tell you. He worries that it might come between you two, or that maybe it already has. But it feels like something you have a right to know."

Wanda is wringing her hands by this point, and she alternates between looking at Natasha with wide, uncertain eyes and dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Hey," Natasha takes her shaking hands and stills them. "It's okay. This is obviously going to eat you alive if you don't tell me, and whatever the fallout is – it won't be your fault, all right? You're not responsible for our actions, and you're definitely not responsible for whatever consequences those actions may have."

"Okay. Sam said…" The girl nods, only to falter before she can even begin. She squeezes her eyes shut and ends up spitting the words out in a rush of air, "Sam said Steve kissed Sharon Carter while they were on the run with Barnes, and he did not think about it at the time but now that you two aren't talking he thought maybe that is why and I'm supposed to find out if you know, not _tell_ you, but if he did that to you then–"

It warms her, for some reason, to know that Wanda would pick her if it ever comes to that, to know that Wanda would stand up for her if Steve ever wrongs her. "Wanda, breathe. Okay? Just breathe. And relax, I already know."

"You already… How?" Wanda gasps before she moves closer and asks in a whisper, "Is that why you two don't talk anymore?"

"Steve and I aren't not talking _anymore_ , we're just not talking _for now_ ," Natasha clarifies. "And while there are a lot of reasons for that, this is not one of them. So you can save that righteous anger for something else, okay? But I appreciate it," She adds, giving Wanda a smile before letting go of her hands.

Wanda flushes, but remains silent until Natasha has gathered her stuff and they start walking back to their rooms. "But how did you know? Did Steve tell you?" She asks a few minutes later, her questions practically bursting forth as curiosity burns in her eyes. At least some things never change.

Natasha shakes her head. "Sharon told me. We met up a while back – they know she was the one who helped them, so she's on the run too – and she just… started talking about it."

As expected, Wanda reaches for her wrist and pulls them both to a stop. "Well?" She demands impatiently. "What did she say?"

"She said it was none of your business," Natasha replies teasingly, much to the girl's annoyance. Wanda groans and huffs and possibly even whines a bit, and eventually Natasha decides to put her out of her misery. "She said she wasn't expecting it and it was nice but a bit weird, and then it got a whole lot weirder when she realized Steve probably just did it because she's the closest link he's got to her dead aunt."

Wanda's brows furrow in confusion until she realizes– "Peggy Carter? From before the ice?"

"Peggy Carter," Natasha echoes affirmatively. "Steve didn't find out Sharon was her niece until the funeral. She thinks maybe it messed him up a bit. Apparently they've spoken on the phone once since he got here, and he was really embarrassed and apologetic about it so I guess she was right."

"But _you_ haven't spoken to him about it," Wanda frowns. "Don't you think you should?"

Natasha sighs and starts walking again, Wanda quickly falling in line. "I know you mean well," She tells the younger girl gently, "but there's really nothing to talk about. Steve and I were never… whatever it is you and Sam and the others like to think. And even if we were, you know better than to think I'm the kind of person who'd get all torn up about him kissing someone else, right?"

She gives Wanda a pointed look, earning a sheepish smile in return. "Right," Wanda agrees reluctantly. "I'm sorry I brought it up. We don't have to talk about this anymore if you don't want to."

"I'm glad you did," Natasha assures her. "Who knows how long you would've stewed in your anger against Steve otherwise. Now come on, I need a shower but you can hang out in my room until dinner and tell me all about the fancy stuff the princess is designing for you."

That gets Wanda talking a mile a minute, and Natasha can't help the way she smiles at the sight. It's taken too long for Wanda to shake off her time at the Raft, to return to the person Natasha had watched her grow into at home.

But life goes on eventually, even after a short stint in the world's most secure prison leaves you with a bad case of PTSD flashbacks of your time with HYDRA. At least Wanda's safe now, here with her family.

 _You really_ are _such a mom_. The voice inside her head sounds suspiciously like Steve's, and she allows herself a small smile at that too.

* * *

A month after Natasha first flew a Quinjet into Wakanda, she wakes up at the crack of dawn one Thursday morning to watch it leave.

"You sure you don't want to come with us?" Clint asks her for what must be the millionth time while Laura and the kids wave at her from the plane. "You know the kids would love to have their Aunt Nat with us. Plus Laura needs an actual adult to talk to sometimes, and we both know I don't count."

Natasha snorts. "At least you're self-aware," She retorts before allowing her voice to soften. "I'll be fine here, Clint. You know I have to stay. I can't leave Wanda."

"I'd say bring the kid with us," He suggests casually, "but we both know Wanda's not the _whole_ reason you're staying here, is she?"

"Are we _really_ doing this again?" Natasha asks, lifting a brow.

Clint raises his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I'll let you hide behind your excuses. You've gone soft, Romanoff."

She sighs, waving back at the kids from where they're standing by the door, waiting for the last two passengers to board. "We both have. You guys will be okay, right?"

"We'll be safe," Clint assures her before he pulls her into a hug. "You do the same, okay?"

"Have you seen this place?" She scoffs into his neck, closing her eyes against a sudden swell of unexpected tears. Maybe she really _has_ gone soft, if this is how she reacts to saying goodbye to the Bartons and sending them away for who knows how long. "I couldn't get myself in trouble even if I wanted to."

"Now, now," Clint pulls away, and they both pretend not to notice how misty-eyed the other is. "That's not true. You're Natasha fucking Romanoff, you can do whatever you want to. Just… keep that in mind when you're dealing with him, okay?" And with a jerky motion of his chin, Clint directs her attention to where Steve and Lang have just emerged.

" _Stop_ it," Natasha rolls her eyes, giving Clint a gentle shove.

"Now you know how he must have felt when you tried to set him up with all those girls," Clint grins before turning his attention to the newcomers. "Lang! Nice of you to finally join us, Sleeping Beauty."

"You said 5:30, here I am at 5:30," Lang protests weakly, still bleary-eyed as he hikes up the strap of his shoulder bag. Beside him, Steve offers her a hesitant smile.

She smiles back, even throws in a nod.

"I said we _leave_ at 5:30, which means you get here at least ten minutes earlier so that everyone's all strapped in and ready to go by 5:30," Clint shakes his head in disappointment. She'll tease him about that next time, about how all of his mannerisms have started screaming _dad_. "Come on. Any longer and the kids will probably change their minds about leaving."

"Right, um," Lang turns and awkwardly sticks his hand out. "Captain. See you around sometime, hopefully."

"Definitely," Steve assures him, shaking his hand.

"Great. And you too, Agent Romanoff. It was nice meeting you. I mean, technically we've met before but we were on opposing teams so, you know–"

Natasha curves her lips into a cool smile. "Nice meeting you too, Lang," She nods, cutting him off before Clint's patience runs out. To him she says, "Call me when you land and as often as you can, okay? And whenever you need me, you know I'll be there."

"Same goes for you," Clint tells her, and they allow themselves another short hug before tellingly clearing their throats and blinking a little more than necessary. They used to say goodbye all the time, used to send each other off on potentially fatal missions with nothing more than a _see you later_. Maybe Clint was right – they really _have_ gone soft. It's not as disturbing a thought as it would have been less than two years ago.

Clint exchanges a brief goodbye with Steve, and then he and Lang make their way to the plane and disappear into the Quinjet, leaving her and Steve alone together for the first time in a month.

"Scott's really excited to see his kid again," He tells her as they watch the plane take off, the first thing he's said to her since the day they went their separate ways.

"It must've been hard on him, to be away from her for so long," She replies simply for the sake of talking to him. "Sam says Clint drove everyone up the wall before Laura and the kids got here."

In the corner of her eye she sees Steve moving towards her, and even as she keeps her eyes on the plane she feels the weight of his gaze on her. "I'm glad they get to be with their families and go somewhere normal," He says, standing less than a foot away. "This place is great, but the kids deserve to get back to their normal lives."

"Yeah," Natasha agrees faintly, watching the plane disappear. She thinks of Wanda, who still cries some nights, who appears at her door with haunted eyes and hunched shoulders; of Sam, who does his best to help everyone feel at home without giving away how much he misses his family; of Rhodey and Vision, left behind in a home that must feel impossibly empty and quiet these days. Without taking her eyes off the sky, she closes the distance between them and rests her head on Steve's shoulder. "They do."

And Steve – without hesitation, without even a moment's pause, without a single sign that they haven't done this in months – reaches out to wrap a hand around her waist and pull her closer.

The sky is lighting up now, the darkness of night giving way to streaks of purple and pink. They stand there, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist, and for the longest time they simply watch the sun rise over another day in Wakanda.

"Nat…" Steve whispers once the sky is an endless expanse of blue.

This is too good to ruin; this is as close to _before_ as they'll ever get. She shakes her head and steps back to offer him a soft, tight-lipped smile. _Not yet_.

He sighs and offers her a rueful smile in return, letting his hand drop from her side.

Natasha braces one hand on his arm and stretches up just enough to kiss him on the cheek. "See you around," She murmurs into his ear before she leaves, and Steve keeps his back to her as she walks away from him.

* * *

Three days later, she finds herself standing outside his door.

Natasha's never really had much need for forgiveness – killers don't apologize to their victims, nor do they pardon those who have wronged them – so maybe she doesn't have the firmest grasp on the concept, but she thinks missing someone is probably a sure sign that she's at least halfway there.

Lately she's been missing Steve more than usual, and ever since that sunrise three days ago she's found herself wanting his presence more than she needs his absence. A part of her has always wanted him around, even when the wound was still fresh, but it's the first time in a month that she wants to be with him more than she wants to be away from him, and Natasha thinks maybe this is what forgiveness is like. A slow, gradual thing, a period of healing and letting go until you wake up one day and realize you're ready to go back to normal now.

She takes a deep breath, knocks on his door, and hopes Steve misses _normal_ as much as she does.

"Hey." Her voice is smaller than she'd like, faint even to her own ears as she offers Steve a smile.

"Nat," He breathes quietly, frozen for a moment before he jumps into motion, opening the door wide and waving her in. "Hey. What brings you here?"

Her eyes fall upon the pictures spread out across his coffee table, and Natasha finds her feet leading her closer without any conscious directive from her mind. "I was going to ask if you want to spar," She murmurs distractedly, picking up a familiar picture of the team gathered around the tree they'd come to know as Pietro's. "Is this Wanda's?"

It's the day of their picnic under the willow, the day that marked a year since Pietro's death. Wanda had asked them all to join her, to bring life and laughter to her brother, and with the camera Steve had gotten her she'd captured a perfect moment in time: Sam seconds away from throwing a handful of raisins at a glaring Rhodey, one hand held up in warning as he flinches away and turns to Vision for back-up. In the background there's Steve and Natasha leaning against the tree, watching on with matching smiles and her head on his shoulder, and in the bottom left corner, Wanda's bright smile easily draws the eye away from the focal point of the picture.

There's taking a selfie, and then there's taking a selfie while using your powers to position the camera and snap the perfect picture. It's an unfair advantage, just like Steve and his eidetic memory. Maybe that's why the two had been able to bond over their art.

"Yeah, I was just… reminiscing. Been doing that a lot lately," Steve admits, coming to stand next to her. "Sometimes it feels like all I've done since they pulled me from the ice _is_ reminisce." Evidence to the contrary stares up at them from the table, a year spent living life rather than letting it pass him by. Natasha trades the picture for another, one with Wanda behind the lens instead of her powers. It's the guys, fresh from a run, Sam with a sly grin on his face and Steve caught in a laugh; in the background, barely visible unless you know what you're looking for, Vision and Rhodey are mere dots in the sky as they take a leisurely morning flight.

Just months later they would find themselves in an airport, an errant blast from Vision – one meant for Sam – leaving Rhodey paralyzed. There's no going back from that, no way of returning to the way things were. Maybe that's why Steve reminisces so much; maybe that's why she finds herself sitting down on his couch and reliving a time they'll never get to go back to.

"So, you wanted to spar?" Steve asks uncertainly, sitting down next to her anyway. "Don't tell me you've already made your way through the whole Dora Milaje."

"Hardly," Natasha snorts, leaning back into the couch with a stack of pictures in her lap. She doesn't react when Steve moves closer to get a better look, ignores the heat of his arm hovering barely two inches away from hers and merely angles the pictures so that he can see them too. "I just," She clears her throat, aims for casual as they slowly go through the pictures. "I just miss sparring with you, that's all."

Wanda had made it something of a habit to take candid pictures of the two of them, and frankly Natasha's surprised it's taken her this long to stumble upon one. It's from one of the last few movie nights the team had together before everything went to shit, and she's sitting with Steve in their usual couch while a sprawled-out Sam takes up the entirety of another and Wanda, Vision, and Rhodey sit on the one opposite theirs, giving Wanda an unobstructed view of them.

They're facing each other, deep in conversation and oblivious to the outside world and the movie. Natasha thinks she recalls that conversation – it was something run of the mill like a discussion about new training exercises – but she hadn't realized at the time just how closely they'd been sitting, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her crossed legs and her body angled towards him, Steve's arm stretched along the back of the couch without ever quite touching her. She's got a teasing grin on while Steve gives her a wry smile, and they're both leaning towards each other as if drawn together.

"I miss you too," Steve says quietly, and when she chances a look at him his eyes are fixed on the picture, lips curving up in the slightest hint of a smile.

She closes the distance between them and leans into his side, and his arm automatically comes to rest around her while they go through the rest of the pictures, potential sparring session long forgotten as they relive Sam's birthday and Vision's disastrous attempt at baking, Rhodey and Tony racing each other during a rare visit, Wanda's first successful attempt to manipulate solid matter into a malleable state.

The last picture in the stack is another one of Wanda's candids of them, their backs to the camera as the two of them stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that face the woods behind the facility, silhouetted by the setting sun. They stand just inches apart, barely enough to make them out as two distinct shadows instead of one.

Natasha lingers on the picture for the longest time, thinking of the view that would greet her in the mornings, of the woods they'd run training exercises in, of the comforting familiarity of it all.

"I'm sorry home is gone," Steve whispers against her temple, fingers curling into her side.

She takes one last look at the picture and sets the stack aside before she turns to face him. Steve returns her gaze in silence, his face a carefully blank mask but for his eyes. In them she finds something that has her shaking her head.

"Home's not a place," Natasha tells him with a smile – soft and small and maybe a bit shaky, but it's enough to make him smile too. She doesn't finish the thought; maybe she's not ready to, maybe she doesn't need to.

That night they sit next to each other at dinner. When she teases him for the way his face turns red after a bite of something Shuri mischievously encouraged him to try, Sam drops his fork in shock and Wanda's face lights up.

* * *

The next week Sam mentions something about his mother's birthday coming up soon, and T'Challa surprises him with arrangements for him to be quietly flown back home to visit her for a few days. Every time they think they're wearing out their welcome, the king proves otherwise. Natasha's pretty sure meeting him was the only good thing to come from the Accords.

It's considerably easier to wave goodbye to Sam than it was sending the Bartons off – Steve even cracks a joke about getting some peace and quiet for once – but it's still hard to see their numbers shrink yet again, even if it is only for five days.

Things are almost unbearably quiet without Sam around, and Natasha finds herself at a loss when the Dora Milaje are otherwise occupied for the day and Wanda disappears for the evening to hang out in Shuri's lab. The princess has developed new technology that she believes will help Wanda control and effectively channel her powers, and it's hard to tell which of the girls is more excited by the prospect of success.

After an hour or so of aimless wandering, Natasha settles down to watch the sunset in the abandoned common room.

That's how Steve finds her a few minutes later, standing by the glass wall as the sun casts her in the orange-pink hue of the day's final moments. He comes to stand by her side, reaching for her without hesitation.

"Do you ever feel like we're right back where we started?" Natasha asks, finally giving voice to the thoughts she's been left with all day. She keeps her eyes on the sky as she leans into him and allows her crossed arms to drop to her sides.

Steve's reflection in the glass frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs, the motion of it jostling them both. "Think about it. SHIELD's still gone. For all we know, HYDRA's probably still out there too."

"Still no Bucky," He adds, catching her drift.

"And we're fugitives _, again_ ," Natasha points out flatly.

He sighs. "Am I the only one getting déjà vu here?"

The night's inky blues and purples slowly stretch across the sky, leaving the room dark and their reflections visible. Natasha chews on her lower lip, considers her words for a good long while before she says, "At least we got one thing right this time."

Steve turns to look at her, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah? What's that?"

She wills herself not to take a visible breath as she turns to face him. "We're together," Natasha says simply, throwing in a shrug for good measure. Met by silence and Steve's too-earnest look of awe, she scowls. "And if you _ever_ tell anyone I said that–"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Nat," Steve huffs, and she swears she sees him roll his eyes – Captain America himself, rolling his eyes – in the second before he leans down to kiss her. This, at least, is a part of home they couldn't take from her, the way they couldn't take the warmth that unfurls in her chest when Wanda turns to her with a smile, the way they couldn't take the lightheartedness Sam's little quips and comments instill in her.

When they part for breath Steve presses his forehead to hers, keeping them close enough for her to see the flicker of insecurity in his eyes. "Are we now?" He asks quietly. "Together, I mean."

After all these years, after everything they've been through and shared and lost and recovered, it seems absurd for him to have to ask. "Seems like it would just be a formality at this point," Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing against his until she gives him a chaste kiss to chase away the shadows in his eyes. "But if you want to…"

"I do," Steve insists, his voice thick as both of his hands settle on her waist. "God, Nat, of course I want to."

Maybe there's no going back, but Natasha's starting to think moving forward might not be so bad, not if it means they finally get to have this. "Okay," She tells him.

"Okay?" Steve echoes almost incredulously, giving her possibly the widest smile she's ever seen on him.

"Yeah, okay," Natasha shrugs, only to ruin her casual mask with a smile she can't quite hide. "We're together now."

He's laughing when she surges up on her toes to kiss him, and soon she is too. "You realize Sam is going to be insufferable once he hears about this," Steve points out when she jumps into his arms, barely staggering as he catches her and secures his hands under the back of her thighs.

"But at least Wanda will be happy," She tells him between kisses, looping her arms around his neck. Steve pulls back, shifting to support her with one hand while the other sweeps errant curls away from her face.

"Are _you_ happy?" He asks, his warm hand curving around her face. Natasha leans into his touch, eyes closing of their own accord as a slow smile curves her lips. A year ago she had a home to come back to and a family to rely on; now she's hiding out in the most remote place in the world, her family strewn across the globe.

Inexplicably, in this moment here with Steve holding her and the rest of the team scattered but safe, with the knowledge that life goes on and nothing – not even this setback – lasts forever, with the revelation that home isn't something that can be taken from her, Natasha feels okay for the first time since the day they left for Lagos.

"Yeah," She smiles, watching Steve's face light up in return. "Yeah, I'm happy."

* * *

 **I posted this on AO3 five months ago, right before** _Infinity War_ **hit theaters, and made a joke about how I'd given these two a happy ending just in time for the movie to tear it all to shreds.**

 **Turns out it wasn't a joke after all. (No, I'm still not okay.)**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading and please don't hesitate to leave a review! It's always nice to hear from fellow Steve/Nat shippers, given that there seems to be less and less of us each day.**


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